


Hard to Get

by INMH



Series: Merry Month of Masturbation Fills (2019) [5]
Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Drama, F/M, Humor, Masturbation, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge, Minor Character Death, Romance, Sexual Content, Strong Language, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 12:47:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18366326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/INMH/pseuds/INMH
Summary: Sequel to ‘Skinwork’ and ‘Bodywork’. John really wants to get with Hudson again.





	Hard to Get

So, apparently it was a one-night stand.  
  
(Well- one night and half a day, if they were being specific.)  
  
Hudson flipped her sunglasses up, propping them on her forehead, and fixed John with a pointed look before lowering her voice to a hiss: “So since I seem to be the only one thinking with my upstairs-brain right now, let me lay out the situation for you: _You_ belong to a very unpopular local cult that we both know has done some shady shit.” (Here, she glared at him like she was daring him to disagree. John wisely kept his mouth shut.) “ _I_ am a Sheriff’s Deputy. If Whitehorse finds out that you and I have so much as looked at each other nicely, I will be up to my neck in a river of shit. This?” She gestured between them. “This can’t happen again.”  
  
A truck horn blared, and they both jumped. Small places like Hope County meant that being seen in the wrong place with the wrong person could get people whispering real quick; and John Seed having a private conversation with Deputy Hudson behind Lorna’s truck-stop was the sort of thing that would get around pretty fast.  
  
And since John already had a reputation for _getting around_ , people would probably make the jump to ‘Eden’s Gate is in bed with the Sheriff’s department’.  
  
(Whether they believed it in a literal or figural sense would be up to them.)  
  
John frowned, stopped _just_ this side of pouting. “Never again?” He asked, snaking a hand out to curl around Hudson’s waist and darting forward to kiss her cheek before she could stop him.  
  
It was telling that Hudson hesitated before removing his arm and stepping back. “Never again,” She said.  
  
“Can’t I at _least_ tattoo you again?” John asked innocently. That was how it had all started, with the two of them happening across each other in a Missoula bar with a few too many drinks in them talking about tattoos and then ending up in bed. He wondered how Hudson answered questions about her newest tattoo, the eagle with the flag-wings on her arm- surely she wasn’t about to tell any interested observers that she’d gotten it from John Seed.  
  
“ _No_. I’ve already gotten enough questions about this one.” She jabbed a finger at his chest. “I mean it, J- Seed. We’re done. Never again.” Hudson walked off back to her truck, and John watched her go sadly.  
  
He loved it when he was right; he would have loved it more if Deputy Hudson was amenable to getting together again.  
  
John had been with a fair number of women over the years, but it was a rare day when he managed to find a woman that he not only found attractive and interesting, but was also into tattoos the way Hudson was. There was one in particular on her back of a beautiful phoenix painted in reds, golds, purples and greens- it was gorgeous, very well done, and John had been decently distracted by it when he’d been fucking her from behind in the shower.  
  
(And then later on the bed.  
  
And then later against the wall.  
  
They’d done a lot that day.)  
  
On his way home, John struggled to keep his eyes on the road as he recalled the skin of Hudson’s hips and waist sliding beneath his hands, the feel of his chest pressed against her back as his cock slid between her thighs-  
  
“ _Shit!_ ”  
  
John quickly swerved back into the right lane, and then pulled over to the side of the road. Thankfully, a perk of living in a place like Hope County meant that one could afford to swerve into the wrong lane in the midst of a sex-fueled fantasy and not suffer serious consequences for it. He rolled down the window and ran a hand through his hair, careful to keep the other one away from his lap.  
  
_It’s no big deal,_ he told himself. _It’s no big deal. You’ll be over her in a week._  
  
[---]  
  
So, John wasn’t over her by the next week.  
  
In fact, he found himself considering that he might have a Problem.  
  
John was a man accustomed to satisfying his needs, so to speak. It took a bit of creative thinking to justify his behavior beyond Lust and Greed and Sloth, the sins of which he was frequently guilty and had confessed to Joseph many times, but he did; it helped that Joseph did not necessarily define extramarital sex as a sin so much as he did the mindless pursuit of sexual pleasure.  
  
Either way, John was guilty of it.  
  
It was ridiculous, really: He’d barely spent twenty-four hours with Hudson, and still he had difficulty letting the idea of further encounters with her go.  
  
He had a _lot_ of difficulty letting it go.  
  
“Damn, damn, damn, damn, _damn_ ,” John hissed in the shower, finally giving in and gripping his cock as he recalled Hudson in the shower with him, both of them hungover and _just_ without enough of their inhibitions to put them off of having sex. He’d fucked her thighs and kissed her back and rubbed his hands over her stomach and breasts, and the fucking _sounds_ she’d made were amazing, so amazing-  
  
John groaned as he came, struggling not to slip as he trembled and tried to brace himself on the wall.  
  
This had been his week- every single day. He’d been reminiscing about barely a full _day_ with Deputy Hudson, and then getting off to the memories of what they’d done together- and off the occasional fantasy of what he’d _hoped_ they’d get to do with one another eventually. That had been last night’s fantasy: He’d gotten off to the thought of them covertly hooking up in his truck, Hudson’s knees hooked over his shoulders as the windows fogged up and the rocking started to scare off the wildlife.  
  
That was his life right now: Reimagining a fucking _Titanic_ scene in the middle of a Montana forest.  
  
John needed to talk to Hudson. Maybe another encounter between them would be enough to get this out of his system. She’d seemed _interested_ before, but overridden with self-preservation instincts that demanded she say no.  
  
Maybe she could be persuaded otherwise.  
  
He had to _try_ , at least.  
  
[---]  
  
“I told you, _no_.”  
  
“Oh, come on! Who’s gonna find out?”  
  
Hudson grit her teeth and glared at the shelf full of cereal in front of her, refusing to turn and make eye-contact with John. The good thing about small towns was that everyone had to go grocery shopping at _some_ point, and John had been lucky to be there when Hudson was. “My coworkers? My boss? Fuck, Jo- _Seed_ , aren’t you worried your brothers will come down on you for sleeping with a cop?”  
  
“I told you: Jacob doesn’t give that much of a fuck.”  
  
“And Joseph? You’re not afraid of what he’d do?”  
  
That brought John up short; Joseph would be _pretty_ mad if he found out about Hudson. There would be the inevitable lecture about Lust, because obviously John’s interest in Hudson was more carnal than emotional; except it would be much worse because of John’s position in the Project. He was expected to set an example for their congregation, and it wouldn’t do for him to be getting busy with whatever woman he fancied at the moment.  
  
Especially a woman with the power to arrest him on the spot.  
  
Still, John snorted and waved it off. “I’m not afraid of Joseph.”  
  
Now Hudson looked at him, obviously not buying it. “Really? Because you _look_ kind of afraid of him.”  
  
“I fear only disappointing him,” John said evasively, covertly ducking around the nearest display of canned goods. Hudson wanted secrecy, and if he didn’t honor that, at least, he could kiss any attempts at getting her into bed again goodbye. “I’m just saying, we had a good time and it might be nice to-”  
  
Hudson fixed him with a hard, suspicious look. “What’s your angle?”  
  
John was taken aback. “My angle?”  
  
“Why are you so interested in persuading me to sleep with you again? What’s your deal?”  
  
John spread his hands in confusion, not caring now if anyone saw. “I’m- Attracted to you? You’re hot, and you like tattoos?”  
  
Hudson’s gaze remained flinty for a minute, but then she just rolled her eyes and went back to scanning the shelves.  
  
John fidgeted uncomfortably. And when he was uncomfortable, he had a habit of spewing things from his mouth that his brain hadn’t vetted, such as-  
  
“What’s your first name?”  
  
Hudson jerked her head up and stared at him blankly, probably trying to figure out if John had popped a screw loose or if this was an incredibly awkward attempt at flirting. “…Why?”  
  
John’s eyes rolled shut. “It- Just occurred to me I don’t know your first name, and that _bothers_ me.”  
  
She arched an eyebrow at him. “You’ve lived in this county for years, I'm a cop and you’re a _lawyer,_ and you’ve just now realized you don’t know my name?” John shrugged helplessly. Hudson sighed, then looked left, right, over her shoulder, and muttered, “Josephine.” A beat. Then, grudgingly, “Most people call me Joey.”  
  
“Of course. Of course I found the one woman in Hope County with the feminized version of Joseph’s name to get attached to,” John grunted flatly.  
  
“I’m sure there’s some deep-seated psychological reason behind it,” Hudson suggested easily as she dropped a can of something-or-other into her basket. “Probably you want to fuck your brother.”  
  
John spluttered, mouth dropping open in horror. “ _That is the single least-funny thing I have ever heard,_ ” he said raggedly, looking nauseous.  
  
Hudson, to his surprise, started giggling. “The look on your _face,_ ” She whispered, shaking her head. It was the first time he’d seen her smile like that since the night they’d spent together, and John- _damn_ it- actually went a little weak at the knees. Her gaze softened enough that he dared to hope maybe she was reconsidering.  
  
“We can’t,” Hudson said eventually, with a much softer and sympathetic voice than she’d used before. “I can’t risk my job, and even if I’m… Not inclined to your religious group, I don’t want you getting into trouble with your brothers on my account.” She didn’t even bother looking around before reaching over and giving him a light pat on the arm. “Sorry, John.”  
  
She walked off towards the registers.  
  
John slowly lowered his head to the closest shelf and started gently banging his head against it.  
  
[---]  
  
A second rejection did nothing.  
  
John woke up in the middle of the night, biting his pillow as he dreamed of the pegging he’d gotten from Hudson sometime after the shower they’d shared together. He’d been humping the mattress, remembering the feel of her pulling his hair as she’d fucked him, _God_ it was one of the best fuckings he’d ever gotten in his _life._  
  
After waking properly, John finished himself off wearily, wiped his hands, and pulled his pillow to cover his face.  
  
_Maybe,_ he thought, _I need to seek other company._  
  
Joseph’s answer would be God.  
  
John’s perspective was that God didn’t want to give him the kind of attention he needed right now.  
  
So John drove to the same Missoula bar he’d met Hudson in that first time, even sat down at the same booth he’d been at before; he’d gotten lucky then, maybe he’d get lucky again.  
  
Boy, he didn’t know how lucky he’d get.  
  
“Jesus _Christ,_ are you stalking me?”  
  
“ _No_ ,” John insisted, holding up his hands and sliding further back onto the seat. Hudson, dressed in jeans and a black blouse and jacket, was looking at him like she was about to pull out her gun (was she armed? She wasn’t in uniform so she shouldn’t (?) be armed) out and pop a couple of new holes in his head. “I’m not, I _swear._ I had no idea you’d be here.” He couldn’t deny, at least to himself, that half his life was finding loopholes that Eden’s Gate could jump through to advance the Project, and that most days he walked a very fine line between ‘technically legal’ and ‘could be mistaken for legal by those not looking closely enough’. The last thing he needed was to get arrested- or shot- because Deputy Hudson erroneously believed he was stalking her.  
  
The _reaming_ he would receive from Joseph would be legendary.  
  
(Jacob would probably think it was the funniest shit he’d ever heard of.)  
  
“Then what are you doing here?” Hudson snapped.  
  
“I come here too, remember? That’s how we met that night!” John hissed.  
  
“So you did _not_ come here to get into my pants again?” Hudson pressed.  
  
“ _No_ , I did not.”  
  
“Because you seem to be kinda preoccupied with it.”  
  
John sniffed, rolled his shoulders. “I’m not used to women not calling me back.”  
  
Hudson’s eyebrows went up. “I _can’t_ be the first woman who’s dumped you.”  
  
John lifted his head, offended. “First of all, you are _absolutely_ the first woman who’s ‘dumped’ me,” He said coolly (a bold-faced lie, but one necessary to preserve his pride), “-and second of all, it’s hardly _dumping_ when we were only together for a day.”  
  
“It’s a dumping. If it wasn’t a dumping before, you have _made it_ a dumping.”  
  
“Whatever. I didn’t come here for you. I didn’t even know you’d be here tonight. How would I even know?”  
  
“Because you’re stalking me?”  
  
“ _I’m not stalking you!_ ” John insisted, a little hysterically.  
  
“Shhh!” Hudson hissed, glancing over her shoulder before sliding down into the seat. “Don’t yell, for Christ’s sake.”  
  
“Worried you’ll be seen with the crazy Peggie?” John asked sullenly.  
  
“ _Yes_ ,” Hudson snapped bluntly. “Have I not made it clear that I could lose my job over this?”  
  
“Only a handful of times.” Hudson sighed, but didn’t stand up. After a moment, John took a chance and lifted her arm onto the table. “Your tattoo looks good,” He muttered. “The ink settled nicely.”  
  
Hudson rolled her jaw, and then sighed again. “It did. You… Did a good job.” She ran a hand over the eagle tattoo on her arm, and John puffed up a little bit.  
  
“I told you I do good work.”  
  
Hudson snorted. “Yeah, you did: About seven times that night alone. Isn’t pride one of those sins you’re not supposed to be committing?”  
  
John sniffed. “In short, the sin of _Pride_ is putting one’s own selfish desires ahead of others, or excessive self-veneration; _hubris_ , essentially. I’m just saying I’m skilled at tattooing people.” He smirked. “Which you’ve just agreed with.”  
  
Hudson rolled her eyes, but smiled regardless. “And boy, am I regretting it. Your ego doesn’t need any stoking.”  
  
John’s smirk widened. “You sure didn’t mind stoking it when we were together.”  
  
“Yeah, when I was drunk.”  
  
“And eager to be tattooed.”  
  
Hudson looked away, out at the sea of people in the room. “Not gonna lie,” She muttered, deliberately avoiding his gaze, “I kinda like guys who are good with tattoos.”  
  
“I can always tattoo you again,” John trilled in a sing-song voice, sensing some weakness in Hudson’s resolve.  
  
“I told you,” Hudson said, less severely than before, “People ask where my tattoos come from. One is easy enough to ‘forget’, but another will make them suspicious.”  
  
John’s face fell, though his fingers tapped lightly on her arm. “That’s a shame. Had a real nice one in mind for the other arm.” Similar theme to match- but this one would have been something with the ‘Don’t Tread On Me’ snake.  
  
Hudson looked him up and down. “Why are you a lawyer?” She asked. “You tattoo like a professional. Why law?”  
  
John’s fingers stopped tapping. He didn’t mind telling people about the Duncans, didn’t mind using the anecdote about how he’d discovered the beauty of the word _yes_ through their abuse as a teaching tool, but the minutiae of the difficulties he’d had with them wasn’t something he liked getting into. “My parents expected it of me,” He said smoothly. “And as Jacob likes to say, I have a real talent for talking at people until they give me what I want.”  
  
Hudson burst out laughing, and John was satisfied that the deflection had worked so well; she was even prettier when she smiled. “Jesus Christ- Jacob doesn’t sound so bad. I might have to get a beer with him sometime.”  
  
John mock-glared at her. “You’re going to make me jealous.” Pathetic as it sounded, he _did_ feel a charge of jealousy lance through him: He could actually see Jacob warming to Hudson pretty quickly, as they seemed to be of similar temperament in a lot of ways.  
  
Hudson snorted. “Like you’re not already, Mr. Stalker?”  
  
“How do I know _you’re_ not stalking _me?_ ” John leaned in, raising an eyebrow at her. “I didn’t see a date on your arm. Nobody’s come over to hassle me about being with you. Maybe you came here to stalk me.”  
  
“My company isn’t here yet,” Hudson said evasively, noticeably _not_ leaning away from him.  
  
“A date?”  
  
“Of sorts.”  
  
“I don’t believe you.”  
  
Hudson’s eyebrows popped up. “And why not?”  
  
John grinned, leaned in closer and whispered into her ear, “Because there’s no way you’d have stayed sitting with me for this long if you thought a date was going to walk in and see you sitting so close to me.” He was sitting close enough to Hudson to feel her shiver- and a hand came to rest on his knee.  
  
“Fuck.” Hudson checked her watch, and then ran her hands down her face. “There’s no excuse for this,” She whispered. “I’m not even drunk.” She met John’s eyes and whispered, “You want to go out back?”  
  
_What? **YES!** Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! **Yes!**_  
  
John cleared his throat. “Yes, certainly, okay.”  
  
He wasn’t going to ask what had brought on this dramatic shift in attitude- he was just gonna go with it. The bar was _just_ seedy enough for a couple to fuck in the bathrooms without it going noticed, and that was what they intended to do. They took a corner stall in the men’s room and even though it wasn’t _exactly_ what John had hoped for, beggars couldn’t be choosers and John was begging at this point. Apparently Hudson was too: For all her rejections, she dragged John to her by the front of his vest and kissed him like she’d been wanting it for a while.  
  
God, but John had it bad: He put his arms around her, pressed against her as they kissed, and he remembered so well how it had been when they’d gotten together a few weeks back. It felt good to be doing this again with her; there was a satisfaction in it John was starting to think he wouldn’t have found with anyone else tonight. There were broader implications of that sort of attachment to a single person, but now wasn’t the time to analyze them.  
  
“Tell me you have a condom,” Hudson panted, a leg hooked around his hips.  
  
“Yes I have a condom, I have a bunch of condoms, we could spend the rest of the night in here,” John rambled as he fumbled for his wallet, Hudson yanking at the buttons of his shirt. “Or we can go back to your place, or my place, any place with a bed. Or a table. Or a sufficiently sturdy wall, I’m not picky.”  
  
“Neither am I, honestly.” Hudson shook her head and laughed lowly, bumping her head back against the wall. “Fuck, fuck, I don’t know what I’m thinking.”  
  
“I think you’re thinking of how well I sucked your clit last time.”  
  
Hudson clapped a hand over her mouth. “Jesus, John!”  
  
It was a testament to how horny John was that the blasphemy didn’t bother him. “I’ll do it again if you want,” he offered as he shoved his wallet back into his pocket. “You made such _nice_ noises, I think I-”  
  
The door to the restroom opened, and John clapped his mouth shut. Footsteps moved on the tile outside the stalls, and he hoped that if they noticed anything that they’d keep it to themselves. John pressed forward and kissed Hudson, who reciprocated silently but enthusiastically. When they parted, Hudson smirked and palmed the front of his jeans; John’s mouth fell open, and he came forward to press his face into her shoulder. Oh, oh, this was _so_ worth the wait.  
  
“ _SHE’S A KILLER, QUEEEEEEN_ -”  
  
John and Hudson jumped apart, startled. Hudson scrambled for her pocket, yanking her phone out and killing the ringtone. She looked at the screen and cringed. “Shit!” She whispered.  
  
“Joey?” Came a voice from outside the stall.  
  
Hudson looked like she was about to pass out.  
  
Almost drunkenly, she shoved John to the corner of the stall before opening the door and stepping out. “ _What_ , Staci?”  
  
Staci-  
  
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.  
  
Junior Deputy Staci Pratt, relatively new to the Sheriff’s Department, shadowing Hudson and her partner Deputy Forrester. Of all the people who had to come walking into the bathroom, of all the times he had to choose to call Hudson’s _phone_ -  
  
Pratt started laughing, disbelief evident in his voice. “What are you doing in the men’s room?” A beat. “Oh my _God!_ Were you actually in there with someone?”  
  
“Out, out, _out_.”  
  
“Wait, I wanna meet him!” Pratt cackled.  
  
Now John thought that _he_ might pass out.  
  
“Not a chance. _Out!_ And if you breathe a _word_ of this to Danny, or to Earl-”  
  
The threat was cut off as the bathroom door swung shut, leaving John in the silence of the bathroom.  
  
And he was still really, really _hard._  
  
John groaned, banged his head back against the wall, and unzipped his jeans.  
  
_I am really, really pathetic._  
  
[---]  
  
Alright, so things were good.  
  
They _were_.  
  
The other night had shown that Hudson was more amenable to fooling around than she’d let on originally, and John was _ready_. Still, he had to move carefully: They’d come dangerously close to being caught out by Deputy Pratt that night, and Hudson was probably shaken. She’d made it clear she valued her job more than she valued fucking around with a guy her coworkers would seriously disapprove of, and so he’d have to be sure to keep that in mind when he-  
  
“Hear about the Deputy that got shot?”  
  
John jumped up from his chair, banging his knee on the desk and hissing in pain. He’d barely been paying attention to the conversation two of his lieutenants were having until that moment. “What?” He asked, far more sharply than he ought to have: Ray and Alec, the lieutenants in charge of organizing the practical aspects of storing food in the bunker, flinched and leaned away like they were anticipating an explosion.  
  
“Uh- a Deputy got shot up at Kootenai Ridge.”  
  
“Which one?”  
  
“One of the men- Forrester.”  
  
John sagged with relief, and then stiffened. He had no reason to care for the local law enforcement and the last thing he needed was some well-intentioned follower to tell Joseph about how he’d been uncharacteristically bothered about a dead police officer. “Is he dead?”  
  
“Yeah. Guess his partner got some shots off at the guys who did it, but there’s an APB out for the guy who- You alright, John?”  
  
No, no he wasn’t.  
  
John had done a pretty good job at smothering his empathy over the course of his life, particularly where those not involved in the Project were involved. But he was feeling a tickle of something terribly unpleasant now; Jiminy Cricket’s corpse was rising from the grave to whisper in his ear: _Hudson_ _has lost her partner. She probably watched it happen. You should make sure that she’s alright._  
  
John didn’t like empathy.  
  
It made him do stupid things, like driving to Hudson’s apartment and standing outside her front door for fifteen minutes as he worked up the courage to knock.  
  
She probably didn’t want to see him.  
  
_You should check on her anyway_.  
  
She’d be angry that he’d intruded on her when she was probably grieving.  
  
_You should check on her anyway_.  
  
He was probably ruining any chance of getting together with her by doing this.  
  
**_You should check on her anyway._**  
  
(John wished that Jiminy Cricket _was_ real, if only so he could crush the aggravating little fucker.)  
  
John sighed, and then knocked.  
  
“It’s open.”  
  
He hesitated. Just that quick clip of Hudson’s voice was enough to warn him what her state of mind was.  
  
The first thing John noticed was the smell of cigarette smoke- it hit him like a punch to the face, like he’d walked into a room full of chain-smokers. As he remembered, the door opened into the living-room area of Hudson’s apartment, and sitting in the middle of the carpeted floor was Hudson herself: She seemed calm now, but there were messy streaks of black mascara running down her cheeks suggesting that she’d been weeping earlier. She was still in uniform and her shirt and jeans were stained, like she’d spilled something dark on herself; John was momentarily alarmed, wondering if it could be Deputy Forrester’s blood, but closer examination suggested that it wasn’t.  
  
“I didn’t know you smoked.”  
  
“I’m not supposed to,” Hudson said mildly, staring into space as the cigarette burned between her fingers. “Part of the rent agreement. But I need a fucking cigarette today. I need a thousand fucking cigarettes, a dozen shots of vodka, and maybe a bullet to the back of my fucking head.”  
  
The flat way she said it put John on edge; it gave him too much of a sense that she really meant it. “Well,” he said, “I can help you with the first two, but the third’s not something I’m gonna be able to do.”  
  
“Why not?” Hudson asked. “You hunt. You know where to shoot.”  
  
_Holy shit._  
  
John sat down beside her, keeping a careful foot of space between them. “So,” He said slowly, “The conversation thus far tells me you’re not doing great.”  
  
Hudson took a drag of the cigarette. “What tipped you off?”  
  
“The part where you asked me to shoot you in the back of the head was pretty telling.”  
  
Slowly, warily, he raised a hand and gave her shoulder a light pat. Hudson shrugged it off irritably. “I’m not in the mood to fuck you right now,” She growled.  
  
“That’s- That’s not what I’m here for.”  
  
“What,” Hudson said, now back to that same, flat tone she’d had before, “You suddenly decide you want something other than sex?”  
  
John shifted uncomfortably. “That’s a _major_ want,” He remarked carefully, because she wouldn’t believe him if he said otherwise, “But it’s not the _only_ thing I’m interested in with you.”  
  
“Like?”  
  
“Tattoos,” John supplied, “You know your way around a gun, _I_ know my way around a gun; you make decent conversation. I-” He shrugged. “I like you.” He’d never been asked to justify why he liked someone before. And maybe it wasn’t much to her, but it was difficult for him to find a woman with such qualities, especially in Eden’s Gate. The women of Eden’s Gate wanted either a quick fuck (nothing that would stain their souls too badly, something they could justify as a lapse in judgment) or a husband (which John had no intention of becoming anytime soon). The women of Hope County, outside of Eden’s Gate, that didn’t regard him with suspicion- well, they were hard to find. And given the level of his involvement in the Project, he couldn’t always afford to go as far as Missoula for some fun. Curious as it sounded, John realized that it was the mutually-assured destruction scenario he and Hudson found themselves in that was part of the appeal: He could be far more genuine with her than he could be with an Eden’s Gate woman or a woman outside of the Project that could use it against him later. Hudson had just as much to lose as he did for being caught out at this little affair of theirs, and so while John wasn’t about to spill the Project’s secrets onto her lap, he could afford to be a little… Freer with Hudson than he could be with anyone else.  
  
Strange, but true.  
  
Hudson frowned. “Then what are you here for _now?_ ”  
  
John shrugged again. “I thought I should check on you?” He worded it like a question because he honestly didn’t know what else she expected from him. “Figured I should make sure you were okay.”  
  
Hudson didn’t respond. She just took another drag off her cigarette and continued to stare at the wall.  
  
John shifted uncomfortably, looking for another track of conversation. “What’s all over your clothes?”  
  
Of all the questions, of everything that had been said so far- it was _this_ that brought tears to Hudson’s eyes.  
  
“It’s milkshake,” She whimpered. “Chocolate milkshake.”  
  
A beat.  
  
Then Hudson broke down sobbing.  
  
Oh boy. John wasn’t accustomed to being the stable one in _any_ relationship, and it was unsettling to see someone as composed as Hudson lose it. He wasn’t good with big displays of emotion from others. Smothering his sense of empathy on a regular basis made him woefully inadequate at responding appropriately in situations like this. He’d been raised in two dysfunctional homes with two older brothers as his primary positive role models, one of whom would rather have sawed off his dominant arm and eaten it raw than cried in front of anyone. John was out of his depth when it came to appropriately comforting a grieving person; Joseph was the one who knew best how to empathize with and react accordingly to others.  
  
He put an arm around her back with all the caution of a man handling a live grenade. Hudson messily stabbed her cigarette out in the tray before crawling onto his lap, curling up against him and weeping into his shoulder. John hugged her and kept his mouth shut, and this seemed to work: Hudson wept for a while, but eventually began to calm down until she was silent again. By that point, the awkwardness John had felt at the beginning had- curiously- gone away.  
  
“Sorry,” Hudson mumbled.  
  
“It’s fine,” John responded.  
  
Hudson pulled back, wiping her eyes and grimacing when the grime from the ruined mascara came off on her fingers. “No-smudge my ass,” She grunted. “Fuck, I need to shower. I need to go to bed.”  
  
It was only five o’ clock, but John couldn’t blame her. “Do you want me to stay?” He asked without thinking. “I can sleep on the couch.”  
  
Hudson stared at him for a moment, surprise in her eyes. Then she blinked, shook her head, and said, “No. I mean- You don’t have to… Sleep on the couch. You can stay with me.”  
  
“Alright.”  
  
John waited in her bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed while Hudson showered. The last time he’d been in this room was the night they’d spent together- first in the bedroom for the tattoo, then in the shower once they’d slept off the whiskey and decided to fuck, then again in the bedroom for _hours_ of some of the best sex of John’s life. He remembered it all in graphic detail but- _mercifully_ \- without so much as a tickle down below.  
  
She came out of the bathroom in pajama pants and a tank-top- no bra, but to his surprise, John didn’t find it titillating. Hudson was a damn attractive woman, objectively speaking, but right now John had never been less interested in trying to initiate sex with her. Despite what he’d told her earlier, wanting to be around a sexual partner without the sex was rare for him; he really _did_ like Hudson, if the dark and occasionally awkward circumstances of today (and the past few weeks) hadn’t been enough to truly put him off her, to convince him to wholeheartedly seek out someone else.  
  
Hudson squeezed the towel in her hands. She looked better, more connected than she had when John had first arrived. “Thanks,” She said finally. “For staying. I’m not sure I should be alone right now.” Her cheeks colored; it embarrassed her to admit that she needed help. Another thing they had in common.  
  
“It’s fine.” Silence. It verged on becoming awkward when John said, “I did say I wanted to get you into bed again, didn’t I?”  
  
He regretted it immediately, figuring that he’d overstepped- but Hudson snorted, laughed breathlessly. “You asshole,” She giggled, swatting him with the towel before tossing it into the hamper. When she turned back to him, she was looking at him… Well, in a way John couldn’t recall her looking at him before. Hudson stepped forward, put her hands on his head, and then moved them to lock behind his neck. She leaned forward and kissed him slower and deeper than she had before; passionate, but not an ounce of eager, sexual desire to be had. John held her by the waist and kissed her back, surprised to find the same basic sense of deep satisfaction he’d felt in the bathroom in Missoula.  
  
_I like her._  
  
_I really, **really** like her._  
  
They parted, and got into bed. John lay on his side; Hudson did as well, with her back pressed against his chest. He wrapped an arm around her, and she settled her hand on top of his. “Goodnight, Deputy.”  
  
A pause. “You can call me Joey,” Hudson responded softly. “If you want.”  
  
_Oh fuck._  
  
_She **really** likes me too._  
  
This worked.  
  
This worked just fine.  
  
-End


End file.
